Transcription
At the time my story begins, Jamie and I had already been married for 6 years. I distinctly remember the officiant at our wedding, with 300 guests, seven bridesmaids and groomsmen, and $20,000 worth of flowers, asking, "Do you, Jamie Elizabeth Snowden, take Blake William Benson to be your lawful husband, leaving all others until death do you part?" I also distinctly remember her saying, "Yes," while giving me a goo-goo-goo look, which I interpreted as a vow that she would not have sex with anyone else while we were married. I made a similar oath, looking at her in much the same way.
I've always felt that Jamie and I make a good couple because we have similar goals in life and like a lot of the same things, but we also have enough differences to keep things interesting. For example, Jamie has always been very competitive and has been involved in sports all her life, while I am calmer and like to find consensus. Although I look athletic, I have never had the drive needed to truly succeed in sports. She is also more social and builds a lot of superficial relationships, while I am an ambivert who enjoys social situations but prefers to only have a few meaningful relationships, as befits someone with the best upbringing from well-to-do, wealthy parents.
Jamie received an excellent college education from one of the best schools in the eastern United States and got a job as a sales representative for a pharmaceutical company. She got a high-paying job by relying not only on her education and intelligence but also on her appearance. It seems that big pharma wants only good-looking people to call hospitals and doctors, perhaps to distract them from the fact that they are being coerced with money. In any case, since Jamie is 170 cm tall, weighs 54.5 kg, has long blonde hair, a winning smile, and sparkling, almost neon green eyes, she was very successful. So much so that she was able to register the right to sell drugs in her territory.
Jamie explained the reasons why her territory had to take her away from our luxury apartment three nights a week or the occasional weekend. Something to do with the fact that the main drug she was responsible for had a limited but very lucrative market. Although I don't really understand this, I don't like that she's gone three nights a week, not to mention some weekends. I'm lonely and crave companionship. In any case, I often skipped the evenings when she was away, going to the movies or ball games or bowling with male friends, but mostly I sat at home and watched TV.
My job doesn't require travel. In fact, I almost never have to leave my condominium if I don't want to. I sell online proprietary computer software and hardware that makes renewable energy systems much more efficient and seamlessly integrates them into the electrical grid. In fact, I have invented, patented things that I sell and can translate software from my powerful computer in my home office and only need to supervise the production of the equipment in the suburbs of the large city I live in for a few hours a week. Since I'm home often during the day, I know most of the neighbors, which is not common in most American apartment buildings where you only see other people from your building if you go to monthly meetings. Other residents tried to persuade me to become president of the condominium association, but I managed to resist. But I agreed to do the accounting for the association.
In our condominium, there are four duplex apartments on each of the two floors and a single-level apartment on each floor. The duplex apartments have an office and three bedrooms, as well as a kitchen, large living room, and three large bathrooms. Single-level residences have a small living room, kitchen, bathroom, powder room, one bedroom, and a small closet. A single-level unit, 5B, next to our entrance, 5A, on the fifth floor, is rented by a woman who looks too young to afford the rent for an apartment in our luxury building. I'd guess she's 23. Jamie and I are only 29, so I think a lot of people in the house think the same about us, especially since we own our apartment rather than rent.
The young woman's name is Cecil Wilson. Most residents are not home during the day on weekdays, so they are unaware that Cecil is at home most of the week and often receives two to four visitors a day, all men. Cecil's appearance and the flow of male visitors led me to the conclusion that Cecil was most likely a high-priced call girl. Although I had my suspicions about Cecil's profession, I didn't bring it up with her three dozen times when I saw her at the pool or at the health club the first year she started living in 5B for two reasons: one, while she doesn't bother anyone, I don't care what her profession is, and two, it's not something to talk about in casual conversation.
What is Cecil's appearance, you ask? Surprisingly, the first year she moved into 5B, I only saw her wearing makeup twice that I remember. At the pool, she usually wore a conservative one-piece suit, and at the gym, she wore exorbitantly bulky shorts and t-shirts. In the hallway or when she walked to and from the lobby, she almost always wore pants and a long-sleeve shirt. In public, she usually wore her long, shiny brown hair in a bun and usually wore bulky black glasses. Although I was sure she had 20/20 vision, the lenses looked like regular glass. She clearly tried to hide her natural beauty when she was not communicating with clients, but she could not completely disguise her magnificence. Cecil has an almost perfect face, massive breasts that even conservative outfits cannot hide, extremely long legs with hips that any artist would gladly try to reproduce on canvas or in stone, and an as* with her sculpted hips. She is almost 5 feet tall and slim, but not too skinny.
My relationship with Cecil was pleasant, if not friendly, during that first year we knew each other. We knew each other's first and last names, always smiled and said hello if we walked by. We had more than a few idle conversations during workouts or at the pool, and the one time we ran into each other at the local Kroger, we had a 5-minute discussion about how best to prepare and serve organic vegetables. She was a health nut, not just about exercise but food as well.
That all changed one Thursday around 1 p.m., a day when Jamie was out of town and was due back on Friday around 6:00 p.m. I was leaving my apartment to make one of my weekly short trips to the equipment manufacturing plant when I heard screaming and banging in apartment 5B. This was very unusual, especially since the apartments are very soundproofed. I listened at the door and didn't like what I heard. It sounded like the guy was hitting the woman. "Knock on the door, superintendent, open up!" It was quiet for a few seconds, although I thought I heard sobs. Then a deep male voice said through the door, "[Expletive] off, we don't need anything!" "Open the damn door or I'll call the cops!" I replied, still hearing the sobs. A big guy opened the door and yelled, "It's none of your [expletive] business, get the [expletive] away from me and my girlfriend!" He was going to say something else, but when I saw Cecil on the floor and what I thought was blood, I didn't let him finish.
In my keychain, I have a cheap self-defense tool. I don't even know what it's called, but it's a very hard piece of plastic with a straight part with holes for the fingers, two rounded ends that extend beyond my hand when I hold the straight part, and a stub with an enlarged head that goes between the two fingers. The nasty guy was taller than me, although I am 188 cm and probably 14 kg heavier. So I took the tool in my right hand and hit him with all my might in the mouth with the enlarged head of the stump. He backed away as I moved towards him and hit him a second and then a third time. The third time, he tripped over Cecil's prone body, hit his head on the marble floor of the foyer, and was gone.
I helped Cecil up, led her to an easy chair, and closed the front door. She had a black eye, bleeding from her nose, and scratches on her arm and leg. She was wearing a negligee, and despite my best efforts to focus solely on helping her, I couldn't help but notice her phenomenal breasts and otherwise fantastic body. "Are you okay, Cecil?" was my first stupid question. "Can I get you something?" "I'm hurting right now," she moaned, and then, taking a deep breath, she continued, "I'll be fine, but could you get me some paper towels for my nose and a cold compress from the freezer?" I quickly complied with the request, and while she applied a compress to her eye, I wiped the blood from her nose. "Who is this [expletive]?" I asked, nodding my head towards the lying hooligan. "An angry customer," she muttered. "We should call the police," I said, finishing with her nose. "No cops," she answered quickly. Over the next few minutes, we returned again and again to the question of calling the police, but it was clear that she did not want to do this, no doubt because she did not want to come to their attention for what might be called a girl.
Finally, I gave up. "I have an idea. I don't want him to think he can do it again. Do you trust me to take care of him?" "Yes, as long as it's not in my apartment," she muttered, wincing, clearly in severe pain. I quickly went to my apartment, grabbed a couple of zip ties, a bottle of water, a bottle of booze, and, for the first time, it was beneficial besides the money Jamie brought in, being married to a pharmaceutical sales rep, some sleeping pills from her stash of legal drugs. When he arrived, I turned this huge [expletive] around and tied his hands behind his back with two zippers. Then I turned him over on his back and splashed cold water on his face. He woke up. I picked him up; he was too heavy to carry, took the keys out of his pants, and took him downstairs. I asked him to point to the car, sat him in the driver's seat, and then convinced him that the pills were a painkiller and would make him feel better. I helped him take the pills down with water and then talked to him, trying my best to convince him that he would never come to our house again until the pills had the desired effect on him. When he was already on his way to the land of la-la, I poured alcohol into his mouth. He exhaled, cut the zip ties, and put them in his pocket. Started his car, and then locked it. I then called 911 to report a drunk sitting in a stopped car in the parking lot of our condominium.
I did not wait for the police to arrive but went up to Cecil's. Cecil's door was still partially open, so I knocked. Opening it further, "Cecil, this is Blake. Can I come in and see how you are?" I heard her mutter, "Of course, come in." Now she was sitting on the couch, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants over her negligee, her head thrown back, with one compress on her nose and another on her eye. "Let me take a look," I said when I was next to her. Then he carefully removed her hand and the compress from his eye. "It didn't look very good. I think you should let me take you to the emergency room," I said sternly. She began to protest, but I said in an even sterner voice, "Cecil, I'm not a doctor, but your eye needs to be examined. I'm taking you to the emergency room, and you have no choice." "Where are your shoes and purse?" She obediently pointed them out to me. I put her shoes on her feet. "Damn, even her legs are great," flashed through my head when I did this, and we walked slowly.
When we got down to the building, I let her away from the police. They smashed the front passenger-side window, turned off the car, pulled the bully out, and loaded him into the van just as the tow truck pulled up. On the way to the hospital, I called my production and said that I would be late. I helped Cecil register at the hospital, confirmed that she had health insurance, and then gave her my business card, which included my cell phone number. "Call me when you're done. I'll pick you up and take you home," I told her, handing her a business card. "You've already done too much," she began to say when I interrupted her. "I carefully placed the card in her hand. No, listen, call me. You may need to stop by to pick up your medication. Call me, and I'll be here in 10 minutes. I have no urgent business today," I said. "Okay, thank you," she said, trying her best to smile weakly. Then he patted her on the head and left.
I was just finishing work at production when my cell phone rang. "Hey, Blake, this is Cecil," came a relatively strong voice on the other end, stronger than when I dropped her off. "Are you ready to leave?" I asked. "Well, yes, but I can hail a taxi if you're busy," she continued. "I'm not busy," I answered in a cheerful voice. "I'll be there in 15 minutes. The traffic is a little worse than usual. Just wait in the emergency room, and I'll come pick you up." "Okay, thank you," she replied quickly. When I picked her up, she had a bandage over her eye and cotton wool in her nose. We stopped at the pharmacy to buy her pain pills and ointment, and then I brought her back to the apartment. "How about I bring you something to eat for dinner?" I said as she sat down on the sofa. "You don't have to, I want to," she interrupted me again. "I'll eat alone if I don't." "How about chicken fingers and fresh vegetables?" I saw her hesitate, and then, remembering our discussion at Kroger, I added with a big smile, "Everything is organic." She laughed with all her might. "What if I come with food already prepared at 6:00?" "Sounds good to me," she smiled faintly. "Here, so you don't have to knock on the door, just come in," she said, handing me the key from her purse.
I brought food as well as a bottle of wine and a large bottle of seltzer, and at 6:00 in the evening, I entered the apartment, taking the key she gave me. It was only then that I began to look around her apartment, as I had previously been too concerned about her condition. The apartment was sparsely but stylishly decorated, including several clearly original paintings. They weren't Van Gogh paintings, but they were fun and well-painted. Cecil was sitting at the kitchen table, her greeting and smile were much stronger than when I left her 3 hours ago. While we ate, we chatted about nothing in particular. "I can't drink wine with the painkillers I'm taking," she said as I poured her a glass. "I stopped pouring. Sorry, I didn't think about that." "It's not allowed, but I need a couple of glasses," she grinned, nodding for me to pour more, which I did. "You're not going to take advantage of me if I fall into a trap, are you?" she asked with the semblance of a smile. "Then I'd be worse than that [expletive] if I did that, but I don't want to because I'll have to carry your ass to your bed, so don't pass out," I chuckled. "I'll try not to do that," she replied.
When we finished dinner and I cleared the table, I noticed two things: she did have some kind of reaction to the combination of pain pills and the glass and a half of wine she had drunk. Although she was still mostly sane, she suddenly wanted to have a serious conversation. "You probably think I'm terrible for entertaining men," she said, not looking me in the eye and sipping from her glass of wine. "Of course not. How you earn your living is your business if it doesn't infringe on my rights," I answered sincerely. "How long ago did you realize that I work as an escort?" she asked, this time making eye contact with her only eye that wasn't covered. "About a month after you moved in," I replied dispassionately, sipping my glass of wine. "You and your wife, what's her name, Jamie? Are you and Jamie talking about this?" she asked. "Never. Jamie doesn't come here often, as you've probably guessed, and it's not something we could talk about anyway. I don't gossip, and I certainly wouldn't speculate on the profession of a good neighbor."
After some more conversation, apparently she was both feeling me out and unloading, she said, "You're the only straight guy I've known since I've lived here who hasn't hit on me." "Why?" "Because I take my marriage vows seriously." "More than 90% of my clients are married," she replied, "but I'm not one of them. If you're wondering, physically, you are the most desirable woman I've ever seen, but I don't know you well enough to know if I'm compatible with you, and I've never been into just a physical relationship. I need emotional attachment to have the sexual experience I want. So if you're offended that I didn't hit on you, don't be offended." She didn't say anything in response to that; she just looked at me with her one good eye for a good 30 seconds. "You know, despite the number of clients and the intimate nature of my business, I am lonely. I have almost no friends. My type of business and hours of work preclude this, at least for the people I would like to interact with."
After that, we moved on to a painfully direct conversation about her personal life. It ended with me asking, "So, what is your ultimate goal in life, Cecil?" "Ultimately, I want the same thing as you. I want to have a spouse and eventually even children. I want someone to be my one and only, for me to be faithful to him, and for him to be faithful to me. I'm saving enough money so that I'll be financially independent by the time I'm 30, and then I'll move out, give up this life, and try to find the right mister. But my plans are temporarily on hold because until my eye, nose, and these scratches on my limbs heal, I won't be working."
"An idea suddenly appeared in my head. Tell me how you feel about working for me," I began to say when she suddenly flushed. "What? I thought you were different," she said in a high-pitched voice with tense muscles and an expression of disbelief on her face. "Let me finish," I laughed, then realizing that this was not something I should have laughed at, I quickly continued, "I'm not trying to hire you for sex. I need help filling out paperwork. I'm hopelessly behind and keep putting it off. This is something that even a cyclops can do if he puts his mind to it, but I can't pay your normal rate," I continued. Now that she had relaxed and even giggled at my cyclopian digging, "$700 an hour, $2500 for a full night, $4000 a day on site plus expenses," she muttered before catching herself, blushing, and putting her hand to her mouth. "I did not miss. I can't pay $700 an hour, but I can pay $25 an hour and offer free food every now and then until you're cured," she giggled. "On Monday, show me what you want me to do, and I'll let you know." After another 20 minutes of small talk, it was clear that she was exhausted, and I gathered my things. She hugged me, whispering, "Thank you very much," in my ear. I kept my crotch away from her, as to my chagrin, I was getting horny. I patted her on the head and left. Despite the excitement at the end, I found it a lovely evening with a friend, no real sexual connotations. I liked her as a person, and I never thought that she might be lonely.
On Friday morning, while I was working in my apartment, there was a knock on my door. "Hi, Blake," said a smiling Cecil, dressed in her usual conservative clothes. "Hello, Cecil. Are you feeling better today?" I asked cheerfully. "It still hurts like hell, but I'm in a better mood," she chuckled. "You probably want your key back," I began to say, reaching for the key on the table in the foyer. "No, why don't you leave it in case I have to be rescued again and the guy doesn't answer the door? I'm here because I hate to ask you for more help after everything you've done, but I desperately need to buy groceries, and the doctor has absolutely forbidden me to drive with my blindfold and pain pills on. Can you take me sometime today?" "Of course," I smiled broadly. "How about an hour?" "1:30? Great," she giggled, clapping her hands. "Just knock on my door when you're ready." Cecil and I had a great time going grocery shopping. I think this was the first time in my life that grocery shopping was actually fun. While I don't hate the activity, I've never particularly enjoyed it. I had fun with Cecil, especially when she talked humorously to the vegetables, imagining that they were people.
The following Monday, Cecil came to my apartment shortly after Jamie had left for work. I showed her how to fill out all the different papers that were lying around my office and even in the living room. She was very conscientious, not fast, but it was the first time in her life that she was filling out paperwork, so accuracy was much more important than speed. We had lunch together, worked some more, and then I took her to the pharmacy to buy some things she needed. Thus began my friendship with Cecil Wilson. I think I was the only male friend Cecil had since she was 18. Every other man she met wanted to [expletive] her, and that was his sole purpose for communicating with Cecil. If it's not that, I didn't want her in a sexual way either. I mean, she was the most alluring and sultry woman I've ever met in my life, but I was married. I took my vows seriously, and I had other attractive women as girlfriends in the past, so I didn't look at Cecil as just a sex object.
With Cecil around, the nights and weekends when Jamie was out of town were no longer lonely. With Cecil, I always had something to do, even after she was completely healed after about a month and looked as good as before she met that [expletive]. And since her regular work schedule consisted of morning and afternoon hours on weekdays, with the occasional option to stay overnight or go away out of town, we did almost everything together on those evenings when Jamie wasn't around. I also encouraged her to go to parties and meetings sponsored by the Condominium Association and made sure she had a good time at each one. However, I realized that I couldn't take her on excursions with my male friends; they were too busy either trying to hit on her or drooling to be good company, so she and I mostly went alone. She seemed to enjoy it. Even when she started working as a call girl again, she insisted on helping me with the paperwork. I soon discovered that she had about greater intellectual curiosity and greater intelligence than she had apparently been given credit for most of her life, so I encouraged her and started teaching her about my business. When I tried to pay her for help, she always put forward some conditions, for example, a swim in the pool or how much time we could study in the orbit wreck for double payment or nothing more. Often than not, I ended up paying nothing, which seemed to make her happier than when I paid her double. I found Cecil to be one of the most honest and kind people I have ever met. She spent about 10 hours trying to find the owner of a small handbag with no ID but nearly $100 in cash in it that had been lost in the swimming pool. She eventually succeeded. She told me a story about a client who developed health problems during sex, and she took him to the hospital and gave him his money back despite his protests that she should keep it. She cried when she couldn't save a little bird that crashed into the window in the lobby of our building. She found a lost puppy and returned it to its owner, refusing a reward. She tipped the paperboy extra, never gossiped or said anything bad about anyone, and never acted rudely or meanly, even when boys hit on her.
About 8 or 9 months after Cecil and I became best buds, she surprised me by showing me an application for admission to the local Community College. "I want to get an associate's degree in Business Administration," she announced with a wide grin on her face. "Can you sometimes help me with homework?" "Of course, I can," I said. "I'm so proud of you." She was absolutely delighted by this comment and ran up to me and hugged me tightly. Every time she did this, I had to make sure that my crotch was at a distance from hers, but I'm afraid that this time she hugged me so long and tightly that I think she must have known about my arousal. But no one, none of us, paid any attention to it.
I was pleasantly surprised that as Jamie learned more and more about my friendship with Cecil, she did not become jealous. I think this was due to several main factors: first of all, Cecil and I never showed our affection in public. In private, we never did more than hug or kiss chastely on the cheek. The second reason was that we developed a great cover story for Cecil's profession. Third, Cecil began helping Jamie with paperwork, for which Jamie was very grateful. Fourth, I convinced a longtime gay friend of mine, who wasn't out but I'd known he was gay since high school, to serve as Cecil's boyfriend at a condo association party and even go on occasional double dates with Jamie and me.
Of course, there must be a problem. Life is never smooth. As it has been for me the last 2 years. On Sunday morning, after the phone call, Jamie had to rush out of town on business, and she was much more distracted than usual when she left. As she left, she pulled out a jumbled pile of documents from her briefcase, placed them on the coffee table, and asked me if she could ask Cecil to sort them into folders. I answered, "Certainly." I was very disappointed with Jamie's quick departure because that day we were supposed to go apple picking, which happens once a year, and I really enjoyed it.
Shortly after Jamie left, I sent Cecil a message. "Jamie left on the bus. Will you be picking apples this afternoon?" She quickly replied, "Let's go at 11:00 or anytime after 2:00." "Okay," after which a happy expression appeared on the screen. We had a great time picking apples and eating apple cider donuts, even though several college guys struggled to look down Cecil's shorts as she stood on the stairs and stared at her in the donut shop. That evening, we had dinner together at my condominium and planned to watch a DVD after that. But before I put the disc in the player, Cecil asked, "What is this?" reaching for the pile of papers that Jamie had left in disarray on the coffee table. "Oh, these are the papers that Jamie dropped off in a hurry and asked if you could process them before she returned on Wednesday evening," I replied dispassionately. "Of course," she replied, trying to gather the papers together so she could pick them up. While she was doing this, something fell from the stack onto the floor. I was busy loading a DVD and just now noticed that something had fallen. I didn't realize anything was wrong until I turned and looked at Cecil's face. She was holding what looked like a photograph in her hands and had a completely traumatized expression on her face. "What is this, Cecil?" "Uh, uh, nothing," she said quickly, placing the photo back in the center of the stack. Cecil would never be a professional poker player; her face clearly showed that this was not nothing. I approached her. "Let me see what you were looking at." "No, it's nothing," she answered, trying to slowly leave the room with a bunch of various papers in her hands. This made me even more curious. I carefully took her hand. "No, I really want to see this. What's the big secret?" When I freed her from the load, she sank onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands.
About halfway down the stack, there were three 6x9 photos, each of which featured Jamie naked and a different guy making out with her. Sex, and she did it on camera. I sank onto the living room carpet. Two photographs and the rest of the pile of papers fell to the floor, and I sat stunned with the third photograph in my hand. "I'm really, really sorry," Cecil said, putting her hand on my face. "I looked at her, stunned. Maybe these are old photos from before you got married," she said, trying to find something positive. "She only got a butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder two years ago," I muttered in response. After a long pause, during which Cecil asked if there was anything she could do, I finally said, "Cecil, I need some time alone to try to process it all. Even though you are my best friend, I don't want to talk to anyone right now, please." I'm sure there were tears in my eyes. "I know," Cecil did too, when she hugged me just before she left.
After half an hour of crying, I slapped myself and said in the mirror, "Action, not pity, you weakling!" I ran around the house like a whirling dervish, looking in all of Jamie's dresser drawers, the boxes she kept on closet shelves in several different rooms, and her office files. One of her desk drawers was locked, so I opened it. I found at least a dozen incriminating, terrifying evidence. The question wasn't whether Jamie cheated on me, but for how long and with how many different guys. I went through many stages of anger, humiliation, irritation, and shock. The only constant theme was, "How could I be so damn naive?" I didn't sleep that night.
On Monday, I looked and felt like hell. I didn't get much work done, and I had even less luck deciding what I was going to do with Jamie. Around 2:00 in the afternoon, I heard a knock on the door. It was Cecil with a pitcher of margaritas, which was quite surprising because I'd never had more than one at a time in my life, and I'd never seen her drink more than one either. Cecil burst into my apartment. "Listen, stud," she said, putting the jug on the coffee table. "I canceled my meeting for today. I called your production assistants and told them you wouldn't be working this afternoon. We're going to get drunk as hell. Tomorrow, you will decide what you will do with your little wife." I started to protest, but it was no use. Throwing all of Jamie's papers that had fallen on the floor the night before, except for three photographs, towards our fake fireplace, I took the glass Cecil was holding out to me and took a sip from it. "God, it burned." Cecil was focused on making me not only drunk but also happy. After an hour of hilarious stories and six drinks, maybe more, I lost count, she finally succeeded. I passed out before it got dark outside. For the first time since I graduated from college 7 years ago, I was lying on the floor next to the sofa, and Cecil was lying on the sofa with one of her arms hanging down and touching me.
After some time, I began to hear ringing in my ears. After the third time, it stopped and started again. I determined it was a landline phone. I stumbled towards it and had enough sense to look at the caller ID. It was the bitch's cell phone. I pulled the telephone plug out of the wall, returned to the sofa, moved Cecil over, and fell asleep, cuddled up to her.
Cecil and I woke up in unison in the middle of the night. I think it was more like 4:00 in the morning than night. Her first comment, made with a mischievous smile, was simply mind-blowing: "You're the first guy I slept with who didn't [expletive] me." "Murderer," I started following the program. "When you look at yourself in the mirror, you will understand why." "Broom Hilda," I muttered in response. "You're not a prize yourself, to be honest. I can't tell if I'm talking to your face or your ass," she replied, and then laughed hysterically at her joke. We both got up, went to the bathroom, drank some water, and then fell asleep next to each other, fully clothed, on the covers in the master bedroom.
I woke up around 8:00 to the smell of bacon and eggs. I stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen. "Breakfast for two," said Cecil in a sing-song voice. "I thought I'd have to light a stick of dynamite to wake you up," she laughed. "I feel like crap and cringe when I see myself in the mirror. This is definitely the worst thing I've ever seen in my life," I said out loud. Then I looked at Cecil. She clearly took a shower, changed clothes, and even put on light makeup. She looked like a billion dollars. "No one should look that good ever, especially after being hanged the day before." "I hang out with you because of your charm, not because of your looks," she grumbled in response to my criticism of how I looked in the mirror, while turning an egg. "Now sit down on a chair and try to hide your face behind the box of cereal so I can have breakfast in peace." I didn't realize how hungry I was until I started eating. The food was delicious, very tasty, and I inhaled it almost as much as I ate it. "I'm glad to see that a man appreciates my cooking," Cecil laughed as I finished the third egg, 200 g of bacon, and the fourth piece of toast. "Are you going to finish this bagel?" I asked, pointing my empty fork at the buttered bagel quarter sitting on the edge of Cecil's plate. She laughed and tossed it onto my plate. It disappeared down my esophagus in a matter of seconds.
After Cecil put away the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, she took my head between her hands and looked me straight in the eyes. "Today, I'm busy and I have an overnight stay, but I'll be there tomorrow afternoon. Let me know if there's anything I can do, but you have some real decisions to make. But before you do anything hasty, you need to talk to Jamie in person. Do you hear?" "Okay," I muttered, and then nodded my head several times to emphasize the point. Cecil kissed me chastely on the lips. For the first time in my life, she kissed my lips. "Uh, you're disgusting," she giggled. "Shave, shower, and brush your teeth before you do anything else." I laughed, nodded, and she left.
By the end of the day on Tuesday, I had completely sobered up, cleaned the apartment, photographed all the evidence, or read it digitally into the computer and saved it on a flash drive. I didn't talk to anyone except my software assistant and my production foreman. My cell phone was full of messages, mostly from Jamie, but also from her parents and even mine. I didn't want to talk to her and thought it was just fine that my inbox was full and my landline was disconnected. I had pretty much decided what to do but was still working out the details when Jamie burst into the apartment frantically on Wednesday morning, 12 hours before she was due to arrive. "I saw it was her and turned away. Blake, I was so worried," she said with genuine concern in her voice. "You weren't answering your calls, and I was sure something had happened." "What the hell could be wrong, my dear faithful wife?" I chuckled with as much sarcasm as I could muster. She turned white and raised her hand to her mouth. Her eyes fell on the papers she had left on the coffee table, still there but now in a neat stack. She began to tremble. "Let me show you my little pile of treats," I said with the same sarcasm as in the previous statement, took her hand, and led her to the evidence, which I laid out on the kitchen table. "Maybe you can explain this [expletive]?" I barked. After several deep, choking sobs, she began to babble, "Blake, I love you. It didn't mean anything. I got so competitive and wanted to be number one in sales. I just made a few business deals. I'll stop, I promise. We have to get through this. You are the only one for me. I will get pregnant, and we can start a family, etc., etc., etc., etc." Finally, I passed out.
I walked into the master bedroom, grabbed all of her clothes from the closet and dresser drawers, not caring what state I left them in, and threw them all into the guest room. Some things fell on the bed, most on the floor. Jamie stood in the hallway sobbing and then fell to her knees. When I was done, I went into the kitchen, found the lock I had bought the day before at the hardware store, and installed it on the master bedroom door. While she continued to sob and repeat, "No, no, no," once the bedroom was locked, as well as my office, which already had a decent lock on it, I left. First, I went to my production, then to lunch, then to the cinema. I returned to the apartment around 11:00 in the evening. Jamie was sitting on the sofa in the living room. She looked like hell. Her mother and sister were there. "Why are you here, Candice?" I asked with irritation in my voice, looking at my mother-in-law. As far as I was concerned, she was a typical condescending, rich [expletive]. I always tried to be friendly with her so that there was at least a semblance of peace between us. "No more, Blake," she said, clearly impressed by my attitude. "Jamie's sister, Sherry, and I want to offer you any help we can to help you get over Jamie's mistake." "A mistake? Is that what you call it?" I laughed. "Did you show your mom the photos, honey?" I asked Jamie sarcastically. She lowered her eyes, refusing to make eye contact. "You know what you can do, Candice. Make Jamie [expletive] those three, four, ten, whatever guys she had sex with, and then we can talk." I went into my bedroom and locked the door. Surprisingly, I slept well that night.
When I got up the next morning, Jamie was gone. There was a simple note: "I've decided to go see Mom and Dad until you calm down and we can talk some more. Don't throw away our future, Blake. We can get through this. Love, Jamie." On Monday morning, at her parents' house, Jamie was handed divorce papers. There were two sets: the first proposed divorce by mutual consent, dividing property 50/50 due to irreconcilable differences. The second asked for a divorce on the grounds of adultery, accompanied by copies of five pieces of evidence that left no doubt. "My simple note: I haven't filled any of these applications yet. Take your pick. I need to hear from you by 9:00 tomorrow. If I don't hear from you by then, I'll submit application number two. Have a nice life."
On Monday evening, around 6:00 in the evening, there was a knock on my apartment door. It was Cecil. "Let's go eat pizza. I'll treat you," she said with a wide smile. "I don't," I began to say, for which she was clearly ready because she immediately purred, "You don't have a single excuse not to go. Let's go." "Okay," I said. "I need my wallet." As I started to walk back to the apartment, "No, you don't need it. I'm treating you. You only need the keys," she smiled, took my hand, and pulled me out of the apartment, at the same time picking up the keys on the table near the door and handing them to me.
We ate at our favorite pizzeria with all organic ingredients, of course. Cecil tried to be as cheerful as possible, which helped a little, although I was still sullen compared to my usual demeanor. When I was full, since we were in a secluded part of the restaurant, she took my hand and asked, "Have you decided what you will do?" "Yes, I sent her two sets of divorce papers today, one conciliatory, the other hostile, and told her that it was her choice. I'll serve one of these tomorrow morning. No chance of reconciliation," I thought. "Long and hard about this. I just can't forgive. Loyalty is very important to me, and it's obvious she doesn't care about that. I don't even intend to talk to her anymore." Cecil continued to look between my hand and my eyes. Finally, she spoke, "When your divorce is final, I want to get you first." "What?" I asked, sure that I had not heard her words. "You're my best friend, plus I'm in love with you. As soon as we go on our first date, I'll quit my current job. I'm confident enough to find another job, and I don't care if it doesn't pay a penny. I have enough savings to last me until I get you, and I will if you give me a chance."
I was stunned. I had no idea that Cecil was actually in love with me. She interpreted my silence as restraint rather than shock. I wondered how the hell she didn't realize that not only would I give her a chance, but I would fall madly in love with the goddess who was already my best friend. Just the thought of sex with this supernatural creature suddenly made not only my manhood and my trousers tremble, but my whole body. "I know you probably won't want to have an ex-call girl as your girlfriend, but I promise you won't regret it." "If..." "Shut up," I barked. Then I stood up and kissed Cecil hard on the lips. After a couple of seconds, she understood the program, rose from her seat, and we kissed passionately across the table. When we finally parted our lips, I sat back down. "If you're crazy enough to be in love with me, let me tell you my plan. We keep our relationship as is until 2 weeks before my divorce becomes final. At this point, you quit your job, I sell my condominium, and you break your lease. The day the divorce is final, we go to a resort for a week, and if after that you still want a relationship, we move to another part of the country, rent an apartment together, and if you're still crazy enough to want me, we get married." Cecil put her hands to her mouth and began to cry. We held hands as we walked back to our apartments. I had never felt so alive, and Cecil was practically delighted. We kissed passionately, and I didn't care that my male instrument was pressing against her crotch. Before she went into 5B and I into 5A, we looked at each other with big smiles on our faces until the doors closed. I knew that night that I wanted the plan we made after the pizza to work more than anything else I had ever wanted in my life.
However, I was expecting complications, and the first one came when Jamie's father, James, called at 7:50 a.m. When I heard his voice, I tensed. "Hello, Blake. This is James Snowden. I was hoping I could get Jamie an hour off your 9:00 deadline so we could meet." "The meeting won't change anything, James." "Blake, you have nothing to lose. If after an hour-long meeting with me, you still want the divorce, I guarantee that Jamie will choose the irreconcilable differences option, and things will move forward quickly. Please, you owe me this." I didn't owe him a damn thing, but given how I wanted my relationship with Cecil to develop, the speed was right. "Okay, when will we meet?" "I can be with you in half an hour." "Then see you later," I said, hanging up.
The meeting with James was useless, except to confirm that he had no idea what I'm really like. Basically, he was trying to convince me of how economically beneficial it would be for me to stay married to Jamie, how rich I would end up being. He did everything he could to keep me married, but he also offered me $2 million in cash and promised that Jamie would sign a postnuptial agreement, which he guaranteed would give me another $2 million if she ever cheated again. "Sorry, James, you did everything you could for your little girl, but there will be no deal. I'm still trying to understand why she wants to stay married. I would assume she would be happy if I didn't get in her way." "Cheating wasn't her style, Blake. She just lost focus on what was important." "Sorry, I won't do that. Don't forget to ask her to deliver the signed papers to my lawyer this morning." James looked sad when he left, perhaps not because he was getting rid of me, but because his little girl had to go to a psychiatrist.
Finally, the day has come. The divorce was final. Both Cecil and I moved out of our apartments. After 10 days, I sold my apartment and all the furniture in it, except the computer equipment that Jamie didn't need.
Cecil's 30-day lease was up, and she sold her furniture too. I have almost completely completed the sale of the hardware of my business to my employees. Jimie did not appear in court, only her lawyer for the final hearing. I showed up only because I immediately wanted to get my hands on a copy of the resolution after the trial. When I knocked on the door to Apartment 5B, my luggage for the trip to the resort was already packed.
I expected Cecile to be ready to go. She was indeed ready, but not for the trip. She was naked except for her high heels and ankle bracelet. "We have time to get to know each other better before we go to the resort. Besides, I don't think you can handle a 2-hour drive," she giggled, pointing at my big tent pants.
Cecil dragged me by my tie into her apartment. Since her bed had already been taken by her customer, the couch cushions lay on the living room floor. While we were kissing passionately, she unbuttoned all my clothes, took off my shirt, pulled down my boxers, and worked on my manhood. Meanwhile, I enjoyed massaging her huge, perfectly shaped mamory glands. Then I took off my shoes, got out of my pants and boxers, and without taking off my socks, began to work on her honey pot. It tasted and felt even better than it looked. She reached her climax. Sometime after the peak of climax, when I was still caressing her body, she muttered, "Now make love to me."
As I took her, she kissed me, wrapping her magnificent thighs around me. And then a unique thing happened. She began to seriously contract her pelvic muscles. I couldn't believe how powerful they were. As a result, I quickly exploded and reached the Finish Line. A few seconds after that, her muscles tightened even more, and we both screamed and shook. I don't, I don't know if I lost consciousness, but I was definitely delirious. Cecile held me tightly. Finally, I came to my senses, completely rolled onto my side. I felt a delicious impulse in my spine as my manhood left what was now his favorite place in the world and looked up into her face. She smiled widely.
"Those were the first two real climaxes I've had since I can remember," she chirped, still grinning. "Do you know why? Because I'm such a wonderful sex god." I laughed in response. "You would," she giggled and then became serious. "I reached fantastic climaxes because we made love. We didn't just [ __ ] each other. I Really Love You Blake." "And I love you very much too, Cil, even before you just rocked my world with sex that was so much better than anything I'd ever experienced before that. It felt like something else entirely." She kissed me deeply.
Having rested a little, we played the second round. After mutual caresses, we had sex. Actually, I'll correct it, we made love again because that's what it really was. Finally, we got dressed. I loaded our suitcases into the car, and we drove off. On the way to the resort, Cecil snuggled up to me until we had driven for about an hour. Then she pulled away and said, "Blake, I have four things to tell you. I have to do this now before we continue. Ready?" "Ready," I smiled.
"First of all, my name is not Cecile Wilson. I'm Barbara Goden, Babs for short. I have a full set of fake IDs so good that I was able to sign an apartment lease and buy a car with them. If things work out between us, I intend to completely rid myself of my old identity and cut off all contact with my four years as an escort." "Wow, you could work for the CIA," I whistled back. "You are very good at hiding your identity." "Should I call you Babs now?" "Don't call me me Babs until you're ready to put a ring on it, as Beyonce sings." She chuckled. "Okay, Cecil, what's the next revelation?"
"I stopped working as an escort the day I told you I loved you, and I accelerated through a community college program so that I'm all the way through my freshman year and have three credits for my sophomore year." "This is fantastic," I answered sincerely, and not only for one reason. "You are full of surprises." "Not finished yet," she grinned. "Thirdly, I came up with a New Concept for an online business that I would like to open. I'll suggest this idea to you after our visit to the resort, and if you like it, we can work 50/50." "I can't wait to hear about it," I smiled.
"Finally, fourthly, and this is the only thing that makes me tense," she sighed and seemed to blush. "If you have questions about my work as an escort, you should ask them this week, and I will answer them honestly. After this week, I don't even want to think about about it anymore, and any mention of it will make me very angry. So if you have questions, ask them this week." It was obvious that the topic made her nervous. Since I had long ago decided that I didn't care about her past profession, although I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I was very glad she stopped working as an escort over 2 months ago, I had nothing else to think about. I would like to ask her, but I couldn't just leave her hanging, so I came up with what I thought was a clever answer. After an appropriately long pause, I said, "I really only have one question, and I'll leave it at that." She looked at me expectantly. "You said you charged $700 an hour, right?" "Yes," she answered hesitantly. "Now that I made love to you, I wonder why did you take so little? You should have charged a 100 times more." She smiled widely, kissed my cheek, and then rested her head on my shoulder. That was the last time we talked about this.
Our stay at the resort was phenomenal. I'm sure no one had a better honeymoon, although technically we didn't have a honeymoon. For me, it was all kinds of fun like snorkeling, swimming, jet skiing, hicking, playing beach volleyball, archery, drinking with my best friend, and then dancing, hugging, and kissing a goddess. That's not even counting the sex, which was truly otherworldly. The only, and I mean the only, problem I had after 7 days was that the man's tool and tongue were so sore that it hurt, but it was a truly contented and satisfied pain because I was the happiest I had ever been. After the first day at the resort, when we fell asleep in each other's arms after fantastic love making, I decided that I would propose to her, which I did on the fifth day. She said yes.
I would have gotten married the day after we left the resort, but since Cecil Babs had never married, and since she had a few very few relatives she cared about and wanted to be around, we waited 3 months and had a small, albeit perfectly proper, wedding ceremony and reception in our new city. Within 9 months of moving to a new city, Babs earned an associates degree in Business Administration. We worked together in my software business, and 3 months after that, we launched her new business using a patented system she came up with to maximize promotions on the internet using hybrid recognition of search queries. However, now 3 years after launching, we have decided to sell her business for a seven fig sum because she needs to focus on something else. Babs, my best friend, sex goddess, and love of my life, is pregnant with twins. Subscribe to our channel so that your second chaff doesn't cheat on you and go ahead and listen to the next story because this story is nothing compared to the next one.